


L'amour fait ce qu'il veut

by dreamcp



Series: The Origin of Love [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, M/M, Passage of time, mostly fluff its cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 04:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11372331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamcp/pseuds/dreamcp
Summary: Six months in the developing romance between Grantaire and Enjolras.





	L'amour fait ce qu'il veut

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the first one, it's not really necessary, so don't worry too much. Though I'd appreciate it a lot if you did ;)
> 
> I went a little looser with translating the [song inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFKa4wZoczc) into the story this time; it's less... angsty? But anyway, I did my best with this, and I like it. Hopefully you do too; thanks for reading!

It’s weird for a second, them getting together.

Though when you establish a relationship with someone _after_ having the best sex of your life with them, maybe that's to be expected. 

Waking up with Enjolras the morning after is amazing. Grantaire opens his eyes to a beautiful, serene face on the pillow next to him, hair mussed and nearly shining in the sunlight. Aside from the small puddle of drool that's accumulated over the course of the night under Enjolras's mouth, it's like the planets have aligned to gift Grantaire with the most stunning creature on Earth. Grantaire is content.

And then Enjolras wakes up.

There's a few moments of silent eye contact, followed by the two of them stuttering awkwardly over each other as they try to gather their discarded clothes and save face.

“It— it's not a big deal,” Enjolras says as he throws his shirt over his head. In his haste to get it on, his arm gets stuck. “Listen, I uh— _ugh…_ I had a good time. Last night.”

Grantaire swallows and nods. That sounds like a dismissal if he's ever heard one. “Yeah! I mean. Yeah, same. I'll get out of your hair now, if that's alright?”

“Ah. Right,” Enjolras says. He looks a bit conflicted, but he doesn't argue, so Grantaire takes his cue and starts towards the front door.

He's nearly to the kitchen where he knows he's left his keys and phone when Enjolras calls out, “Uh, Grantaire? I… I need help.”

Grantaire frowns in confusion and retraces his steps, poking his head through the bedroom door frame. There's Enjolras, still struggling with the shirt, except now _both_ arms are caught. He meets Grantaire's eyes and wiggles his arms a little, as though to make his point.

Grantaire shakes his head in disbelief; this grown-ass man just got stuck in his own shirt, and now he needs help out of it? God, Grantaire loves him already.

He starts to laugh at Enjolras, who pouts at first, but soon enough he starts laughing too. The tension between them melts away easily. Why were they ever so awkward with each other? Grantaire steps forward to rescue Enjolras, and it's only once he's free the two of them start to calm down.

“That's one way to break the ice,” Grantaire says. Enjolras smiles up at him, eyes still shining with mirth.

Grantaire says “love” pretty liberally— he loves his friends, of course, he loves the barista who makes his regular whenever she sees him walk in the door, he loves the girl who was yelling some sense into her boyfriend (or maybe ex) on the street last week for cheating on her. Love is easy for him, even while his mind is sometimes more cynical than his heart.

He thinks this time, though, he might mean it a bit more literally than usual.

They get it sorted out in the end— he asks for Enjolras's number, they agree to meet up sometime, Enjolras smirks and tells him not to keep him hanging _too_ long. All in all, a success. 

God, their friends tease them for _ages._

Grantaire forgets that Courfeyrac knew about him hooking up with Enjolras, but he's quickly reminded the next time he sees him when Courfeyrac greets him with a shit-eating grin. It doesn't take long to learn just how fast word travels between his and Enjolras's mutual friends, and subsequently their individual ones. Courfeyrac told his friend (boyfriend? Grantaire doesn't know him very well) Combeferre because he needed a ride that night, and somehow within two days it's reached Éponine, who hits him on the shoulder and asks whether he's finally got someone to reliably model for his paintings.

Somehow, Enjolras gets Grantaire to come out to his social justice meetings every two weeks at the café Grantaire frequents. Grantaire didn't even realize there'd been something going on in the Musain’s backrooms all this time. He likes the café for its relative quiet; apparently Enjolras and his friends think the same, though they're planning ways to bring down _The Man,_ or something.

Ever the skeptic, Grantaire's first visit is marked by him sitting in a wooden chair in the back of the room for three hours and wincing whenever Enjolras says something especially unrealistic. The people will _rise up?_ Sure, if they actually cared, but you can't _make_ someone believe in something they refuse to consider. 

On the other hand… Enjolras is a force to be reckoned with when he's talking. Passionately spewing facts about the state of human rights punctuated by sweeping gestures, Enjolras marches on in pursuit of his ideals unwaveringly. It's something special, Grantaire admits. Seeing Enjolras speak is inspiring, makes him want to _do_ something, _help_ someone, make the world _better_ like Enjolras envisions.

Trying to decide which position he should take is confusing.

Enjolras comes up to him once the meeting is over, eyes light and smile wide. He looks happy, comfortable, in his element, even as a hint of nerves seeps into his voice as he asks Grantaire what he thought. Grantaire thinks back to Enjolras in action, standing tall and strong in the fading light filtering through the café’s windows, encouraging a small group of dreamers to act on those dreams, to make a real difference in the lives of those who can't help themselves. There's a _lot_ of painting inspiration to be found there.

He can't lie and say it was perfect, that he agrees with all the methods Enjolras talks about. He knows Enjolras really does value his opinions (and oh, wasn't that a surprise when the subject was brought up). But… it was good. Grantaire can see himself returning.

“It could use some work, I think,” Grantaire settles. He could say more, but decides that he’ll elaborate only if Enjolras asks him to; it's not necessary right now. Enjolras nods and bites his lip, suddenly contemplative. He's unsurprised; they've been together nearly a month now, he's had plenty of time to get acquainted with Grantaire's more pessimistic attitude.

When they go home together that night, Enjolras _does_ ask him to elaborate, and even as he's pointing out flaws and explaining why so-and-so really doesn't work in practice, Grantaire feels warm inside.

Things just kinda keep going from there. They go on dates, they go to ABC meetings, they talk about TV shows they've seen and somehow wind up discussing the effects of the film industry being so void of diversity. Grantaire's had more casual debates in the last four months than in the rest of his life.

Sometimes debates turn into arguments. It's inevitable, between two people with such polar attitudes towards life. Grantaire hopes, anyway. Words are tossed around, voices are raised, expressions grow tenser. Insults creep in, influenced by frustrations accumulated over the past weeks. Doors are slammed. 

At least they manage to avoid the touchier subjects. It only took one fight bringing up someone’s drinking and someone else’s poor family relations before they silently agreed not to repeat the experience.

They make up, even if it sometimes takes a few days for things to really return to normal. If they've got one thing in common, it's that they can both hold a grudge. But they've at least moved past having to use their friends as intermediaries when things get especially tense. They're adults; they're capable of working things out. And they still love each other.

It hits Grantaire one day, a little over six months in. He's taken Enjolras to the park to enjoy the last of the warm weather before winter forces them all indoors. The leaves have turned colors and are starting to fall, but most trees are still covered in gorgeous oranges and yellows and browns. They walk down the path at their own pace, hand in hand.

Enjolras's hands are always cold. Grantaire rubs his hand gently with his thumb as Enjolras talks about his study day with Combeferre yesterday. He's using his other hand to make gestures, and Grantaire smiles. It's an unconscious habit of Enjolras's, he now knows. The theatrics whenever Enjolras speaks at meetings or rallies is are completely unintentional. Grantaire finds it pretty funny, even though Enjolras pouts when he points it out.

Enjolras puts him through hell and back, sometimes, whether out of fear or frustration. Grantaire knows he's far from innocent, though; they've both got things to work on. And he's content to let Enjolras drag him this way and that, if at the end of the day he gets to see Enjolras happy.

Mid-sentence Enjolras cranes his neck to look at Grantaire and smile as he describes how the studying quickly fell apart when Courfeyrac showed up with a box of turtles (Grantaire wonders where he lost the plot). His eyes are bright and his face is slightly pink from the cool wind that occasionally blows past. It ruffles his hair and makes it shine in the sunlight.

Grantaire loves Enjolras. By itself that's really not a revelation, Grantaire's loved him almost since the beginning. But Grantaire stops and thinks of Enjolras— the long curls he sometimes ties back when they get in his way, the little frowns when Grantaire teases him that Grantaire knows aren't really serious, the tendency to attract every eye in the room without really meaning to, the red articles of clothing that make up a third of his wardrobe, 100% on accident. The soft touches on dates, at meetings, after waking up. 

Enjolras is a good man. Grantaire trusts him, believes him when he speaks. He’d follow him anywhere. So why, then, does it suddenly surprise him that he can see the rest of his life with Enjolras?

“Grantaire?”

He's pulled by his thoughts by Enjolras's voice. Grantaire blinks and focuses on Enjolras once more. They've stopped walking, and Enjolras looks at him with curiosity and slight concern. _No need for that,_ Grantaire thinks fondly. _It's all fine._

Grantaire steps so he’s directly facing Enjolras, and rests his hand against his face. Enjolras leans into the touch; Grantaire revels in it. Gently, gently, he presses a kiss to Enjolras's forehead.

He thinks briefly about the fact they haven't yet moved in together. He could ask Enjolras now, since they're already being sappy, but nah. It can wait awhile. They've got plenty of time, he thinks.

Enjolras squeezes Grantaire's hand. They've got plenty of time.

**Author's Note:**

> That'll be the end of this series; short-lived I know, sorry. Hopefully you enjoyed it if you read!


End file.
